


Persuasion

by ObsidianButterfly



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal, Blackmail, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Fingering, Handcuffs, M/M, Oral, Riding Crop, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-24
Updated: 2013-04-24
Packaged: 2017-12-09 10:23:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/773114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObsidianButterfly/pseuds/ObsidianButterfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Hounds of Baskerville. </p><p>Lestrade: ‘I don't just do what your brother tells me’</p><p>Unfortunately, even despite Greg’s protest, he does always do what Mycroft tells him. And here is why. </p><p>Mycroft wants Greg to go to Dartmoor to keep an eye on Sherlock during his current investigation. Greg is reluctant to become involved so Mycroft persuades him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Persuasion

‘Forget it Mycroft, I am NOT going to Dartmoor.’

Greg was busy unpacking. He had just spent a very relaxing week’s holiday in warm and glorious sunshine with some friends. His job was demanding and since Mycroft had no free time to go with him due to his own work, he decided just to go anyway. 

Mycroft rolled his eyes behind Lestrade’s back, exasperated by his attitude. Greg wasn’t looking at him, reclining on the couch of the home they now shared; he was far too busy trying to unpack his things and completely ignoring what was important.

‘Really, Gregory, Sherlock has probably bitten off far more than he can chew. He is up to something and is digging in some very sensitive areas. The only protection he has there is my name and that will only get him so far. He is not technically a member of her Majesty’s Government and he has no right to be snooping around Baskerville.’

‘Sherlock is a big boy and can take care of himself.’ Lestrade absentmindedly placed as small kiss on the older Holmes forehead as he strolled past, trying to be reassuring to his partner.

Mycroft, however, didn’t give up easily, ‘He is alone there-‘

‘He has john with him.’

‘Sherlock may be in danger-‘

‘He has John with him.’

‘He is likely to get into trouble with the military authorities-‘

‘John will be there to get him out,’ Greg countered, thinking that there really was no need for him to fuss so.

Mycroft’s temper snapped. His partner wasn’t really listening to him, or at least taking no note of his arguments. Evidently, he did not seem to think this matter was as important as he did. He thudded the tip of his umbrella on the floor and raised his voice.

‘Oh for heaven sake! I ask you to do one thing for me. Yes I know John is there and for his part, I trust him completely to aid Sherlock in anyway, including trying to keep him out of trouble but this may be bigger than both of them can handle. I have had the Chief of Defence on the phone for the last two days demanding to know why I gave clearance to non-military personnel to a highly classified site!’

Lestrade paused his unpacking, dirty laundry piled in his arms. Mycroft was in one of his moods. Greg knew his tirades were usually out of worry or exasperation, Sherlock was often the cause. He tried a different tact; dropping his items back into the case he wrapped his arms around the older Holmes from behind the couch. Greg rested his head on Mycroft’s shoulder, rubbing his check along his as Mycroft sighed angrily through his nose.

‘Listen, I know you worry about him, but really, don’t work yourself up, love. He is not your constant responsibility.’

Mycroft stayed turned away from him in moody silence. Greg gave a small squeeze with his arms in reassurance.

‘He will be fine. And anyway, what is one Scotland Yard Inspector going to do to help? With your authorisation Sherlock probably has more clout around there than I do and as you and your brother as so fond of pointing out, my intellectual prowess doesn’t match up to yours, so I will be no help on that front.’

He gave a small smile, trying to joke Mycroft out his mood. It only earned him a raised eyebrow and trademark unimpressed look. He slumped in defeat and pulled away.

Greg sighed wearily as he went back to his business. He loved him dearly but Mycroft could be such a petulant baby at times, especially when he didn’t get his way. He would have to just be firm with him and hopefully he would eventually get off the subject.

‘Forget it. I just got home. I have a few days holiday left and intend to relax. I am not going to play babysitter to your brother and his boyfriend-sorry partner in crime. End of story Mycroft. Get one of your lackeys to go.’

The man on the couch folded his arms, biting his lip in contemplation before commenting, ‘I could order you.’ 

Greg placed his hands on his hips and turned to face him, towering over his sitting form. He gave Mycroft a look that plainly said it would be unwise to even go there. His lover did not meet his steely gaze; he simply studied the tip of his umbrella before commenting icily-

‘You are not going to go?’

‘No.’

‘Your final word?’

Greg only nodded. 

‘Fine!’

Lestrade didn’t like the tone in Mycroft’s voice. He never won any arguments with the man. He was too damned smart and also too damned stubborn. The tone was one which indicated that Greg hadn’t heard the last about this.

With his dubious parting comment, Mycroft rose from the chair and headed for the door. Greg rolled his eyes and called out after him only to hear the front door slam behind the man a few moments later. He swiftly kicked the edge of his opened suitcase on the floor in anger. Gods! He was such an infuriating man! Well he wasn’t going after him, he said to himself. Let him stew. If Mycroft was in a mood then he could just bloody stay that way.

The D.I hadn’t heard from his partner all afternoon. He was only partly worried, as Mycroft could sometimes get very busy with work but after their little spat this morning, he was likely in a huff. Greg knew that both of them were equally as stubborn but the older Holmes moods far succeeded his own. 

Plucking up courage he decided to be the better man and called Mycroft’s office. He tried to be cheery and didn’t even mention the morning’s events as he checked if he wanted to meet him for lunch. He was informed by Anthea, in a clipped voice, that Mycroft was far too busy. Well, fine then, he thought as he hung up, hoping Anthea didn’t take offence at him slamming the receiver down. It would appear the infuriating man was still sulking.

As the day dragged on he still heard nothing. Greg made himself some dinner then decided to put his feet up and watch TV. Glancing at the wall clock occasionally, Mycroft was late home. He hadn’t even called to say that he would be as was his usual habit. The D.I was getting angrier at the situation, he had been willing to let it go and thought Mycroft would come around eventually but clearly that wasn’t working. For a grown man, Holmes could be very juvenile when he wanted to be, reminded him of a certain younger brother too come to think on it and Mycroft had the cheek to complain about Sherlock and his need to grow up! If he thought giving Greg the silent treatment would get him to go to Baskerville then he would just need to think again, his mind was set and he was not about to give in this time.

A noise at the door told him Mycroft was finally home. Lestrade had been dozing on the couch, it was very late and he could see through the slightly open blinds that darkness had completely fallen outside. Mycroft walked into the living room to where he was sprawled, still half asleep on the couch, sneered at him before turning without a word and heading upstairs, shoes echoing on the hard wooden floor  
Greg sighed and yawned. He stretched before dragging himself wearily off the couch, turned out the lights, and headed upstairs, intending on bed. As he entered the bedroom he could hear Mycroft in the en-suite, his suit already hanging neatly on the door of the wardrobe; evidently he was getting ready for bed too. 

Stripping to his boxers and throwing his clothes over the back of a chair (Mycroft hated his messiness and he intended to punish him for his behaviour), Greg climbed into the cool, crisp white sheets, snuggling down into them. After a while his partner appeared in his classic oxford pyjamas. Greg preferred to sleep in very little and he loved the shyness Mycroft occasionally had about his body. The first time they made love he had wanted all the lights out. Only after much coaxing had Greg got him to let him leave the lights on, just a small lamp at first. They had worked up to sex in broad daylight, in his office. Lestrade grinned at the memory often.

The older Holmes hadn’t said a word to him since he came in. He silently climbed into bed, folding the covers neatly about him; he lay on his back, facing up at the ceiling, his body ridged. Greg slid over the bed slightly trying to snuggle into Mycroft’s side, usually it was the other way about and Mycroft slept in the crook of his arm. His lover didn’t move he merely looked at him, eyebrow raised.  
Lestrade groaned and flung himself onto his back on his side of the bed. ‘Mycroft, honey, come on, you are being silly.’

‘Silly? Really? I didn’t think asking a little favour would be such a big deal.’

He covered his face with his arm, fighting an urge to yell.

‘You know it is not a small favour!’ He turned to face the Iceman beside him. ‘Are you really going to do this?’

‘Do what?’ Mycroft enquired in an innocent tone. Greg indicated his stiff-as-a-board posture on the bed.

‘So because I told you no, you ignore me, you are in a mood with me all day, you don’t speak to me, I can’t touch you and no doubt we won’t be having sex until I agree, is that right?’

Mycroft stayed silent, staring at the ceiling. Greg tried a different tact, sliding back across the bed towards him, arm sneaking across his waist as he nuzzled Mycroft’s ear, whispering ‘I missed you, love.’ His hands wandered lower to Mycroft’s hip, massaging him through his night clothes as his lips traced his earlobe. The Iceman shivered and turned his face towards him, pupils dilated; Greg pressed his advantage and the apparent change in his mood and captured his lips with his own. 

Their kiss deepened as Lestrade’s hands roamed the other man’s body, tongues tangling with one another as Mycroft turned in Greg’s embrace to fully face him, the line of their bodies pressing together and legs entwining.

Mycroft’s soft hands caressed his bare sides, moving down to his waist to knead the flesh there as Greg grabbed his lover’s ass pulling him forwards, closer to his body, in order to grind their hips together. Holmes slowly rolled him over onto his back kissing him passionately, fingers running through silver hair before working their way down. Mycroft pulled his lips away from Greg’s to trail downwards, running across his jawline, his neck; he gently bit into his collarbone earning a groan from the man under him. As he worked over his chest, caressing a nipple with his tongue, one hand brushed his increasing erection through his boxers causing Greg to buck his hips widely upwards.

Lestrade was lost in the bliss of his lovers’ mouth, his head thrown back into the pillows, eyes close at the delicious sensations travelling across his body. He was too intent on his pleasure that he hadn’t realised Mycroft’s manoeuvre, both hands were pinned at up his head; Greg saw no reason not to leave them there as Mycroft’s talented mouth worked south. However, after a while, a small click brought his out his reverie.  
Holmes had stopped his ministrations and now sat back on the bed straddling Greg’s waist. Greg raised his head but that was all he could do. His arms seemed to be stuck. He glanced upwards to the headboard, eyes not making sense of what he was seeing. A few seconds passed as he processed what was wrong. His wrists were handcuffed to the bed!

He shot an angry look at Mycroft who was staring down at him with a smirk.

‘What are you doing?’

No answer, just his gleeful triumph.

‘Mycroft! What are you doing? Let me up.’

Mycroft only shook his head as he rolled, gracefully, off the bed. Greg tugged at the cuffs; they rattled loudly against the headboard but were clearly locked tight.

‘Are those MY handcuffs?’

Mycroft grinned evilly as his captive slumped back in the bed, his shoulders sore from straining upwards.

‘This is not funny, let me up. Now.’

‘Not until you agree to my demands.’

‘You are being impossible! I am not agreeing to any, demands!’

His captor gave a small shake of his head in mock exasperation, ‘Are you going to go to Dartmoor?’

Lestrade sighed loudly, ‘Oh for heaven’s sake! I told you no! And this-‘ he rattled the cuffs again for emphasis- ‘is not going to convince me otherwise.’

His lover moved away from him towards the bedside table, opening the drawer with a slight squeak before leaning over it. Greg couldn’t help but be curious and craned his neck as much as he could to try and see what he was looking at. Mycroft drew a long, jet black riding crop, slowly from the drawer. He flexed it in his hands slightly before swishing in a practice swing which created a loud crack through the air. Greg blanched.

‘Now look, love. You should know by now that threatening me is not going to make me do anything.’

His captor stalked back, closer to the bed.

‘Mycroft!?’

Mycroft stood at the edge of the bed, staring at the tip of the crop while Greg squirmed. The D.I sighed inwardly, he wasn’t listening to a word he said and this was getting absurd. He was speedily becoming sick of Mycroft’s attitude. He wasn’t really going to whip him surely? A sharp sting across his thigh brought his wandering mind back to the present abruptly.

‘Ow!’

‘Are you going to Dartmoor?’ Mycroft looked under his eyebrows at the man on the bed who only glared, angrily, back.

‘How many times Mycroft. No. And don’t think you are going to bully me into it!’ Lestrade was turning red in his anger and uncertainty, yelling at the man who seemed remarkably calm and serene above him.   
Greg watched him like a mouse watching a cat, as Mycroft stalked around the bed to the opposite side. He trailed the crop over Lestrade’s face, down his chin and chest, gently stroking and caressing his bare skin with it.

A sharp crack brought the crop down over Greg’s stomach; he flinched, muscles in his abdomen tightening from the blow. It was not particularly rough or vicious but a hard enough to leave a slight sting on the soft flesh. Mycroft gave a few playful whacks to his captive’s legs before releasing a much sharper one on the sole of his left foot. Greg yelped and tried to drag his foot away.

‘Ow! Damn it, Mycroft, stop, just stop it, ok, you are being ridiculous!’

He said nothing; he gave Greg a predatory grin before placing one knee on the bed, leaning over him and planting a heated kiss on the Inspectors lips. He slid his tongue into Greg’s mouth, gently massaging, leaving the taste of expensive wine. He pulled away from the straining Inspector, kissing along his jawline before nibbling down his neck.

Lestrade sighed under his lover’s ministrations, straining against his bonds; eager to get closer to Mycroft’s warm, teasing mouth. As he kissed he also trailed the crop down Greg’s chest, ticking the sensitive skin, tapping it gently and playfully. He abruptly pulled back from Lestrade's mouth earning him a small moan in protest form his captive before a loud yelp as the whip criss-crossed his stomach with a series of sharp smacks.

Mycroft’s mouth returned to his torso, trailing kissed down his chest and stomach. Greg couldn’t help it, he was becoming aroused from the mixture of pleasure and pain his partner was drawing from his body. His cock hardened and was straining against the confines of his boxers, Mycroft teased and brushed it every so often with the crop, the back of his hand, his cheek, as he nibbled the inside of his upper thigh soothing the slightly pink stinging flesh.

Sitting back on his heels, Holmes surveyed the man below him like a lab specimen. Greg was flustered, a mixture of pain and pleasure, his treacherous body giving him away to Mycroft’s expert eye. The older Holmes gently rubbed him through his boxers with the very tip of the crop, circling the hardened flesh sensuously slowly staring the DI in the eye and smiling wickedly. Greg bucked his hips begging his lover for more.

 

‘Go to Dartmoor to help Sherlock and I will uncuff you. We can finish…this.’

Greg closed his eyes, steeling his mind against the blackmail. He opened them to stare up at Mycroft smirking at him and idly stroking his erection, obviously thinking he had won. He slowly shook his head; he wasn’t going to give in so easily. Oh god, he thought, please don’t let him give it. He would never hear the end of it.

Mycroft narrowed his eyes at him. ‘Fine.’

Greg swallowed audibly, the threat on that one word terrifying. A sharp sting caught him across his thigh raising an angry red stripe across the skin. He hissed. Mycroft attacked every exposed section of skin, alternating between sharp stinging whacks, gentle slaps or soft caresses with the riding crop. Lestrade bucked and writhed against the bed, begging him to stop occasionally when he managed to find his voice but also secretly delighting in the sheer naughtiness of having his lover dominate him. 

Between a pause in his assault, Greg looked at the man above him; he was losing his ice cool demeanour. There was slight sheen of sweat across his brow from his exertions, his own arousal obvious through the fabric of his pyjamas, and he was breathing heavily thorough his nose. Apparently dominating someone was a tiring job and Mycroft was enjoying himself. Greg wondered if he would like it if the roles were reversed. He would explore that later.

The crops punishment ceased as Holmes appeared back on the bed above him, gently stroking his face with his palm and kissing him deeply. Mycroft’s cool, strong hands caressed his body, soothing the heated and abused flesh with soft caresses of cool fingers. He kissed his way down Greg’s stomach, stopping at the waistband of his boxers, rubbing his nose back and forwards along the line of fabric.  
He whimpered as the older Holmes inadvertently brushed his erection through his boxers. Settling between his legs, Mycroft glanced up the line of Greg’s prone body meeting his warm, lust filled gaze. He raised an eyebrow-

‘Going to Dartmoor?’

Greg licked his lips, unsure as to what would be the best answer. He was determined not to give into Mycroft’s bullying but with him lying there between his legs, him unable to move from the handcuffs and body super sensitive from Mycroft’s delicious mouth and vicious whip, the promise insinuated between his legs was exciting. Would it be so bad to give in?

Long fingers hooked into the waistband of his boxers and tugged gently, pulling them down his hips before off his long, lean legs. His erection sprung free and he fought not to buck his hips widely as Mycroft’s warm breath blew along his arousal, sending shivers up his spin. Greg gasped and bit his tongue before biting out-

‘No, I won’t do it, I’m not going to Dart-‘

His voice was lost, his breath hitched as Mycroft suddenly captured him in his mouth. Engulfed in the warm, soft wetness of his mouth was bliss and Lestrade could not help bucking his hips, trying to impale himself further into he source of his pleasure. Greg closed his eyes and threw his head back, lost in the delicious sensations of his lover’s mouth. He strained against the cuffs, only vaguely aware they were cutting into his wrists and not caring one bit.

Holmes worked him into a frenzied stated of arousal, he bit his lip until he drew blood, trying not to moan as Mycroft dexterous tongue caressed his length, twirling the head before sucking him down, enveloping him fully. He was close to coming, he could feel it a deep low pressure low in his groin, hips flexing with each suck. Mycroft pulled back just as Greg was close to losing himself, a few more strokes would have had him spilling into his mouth. He moaned in frustration, his eyes snapping open wondering why he had stopped. Mycroft grinned evilly, now kneeling above him, lips wet and pink from his oral activity. 

Greg was breathing heavily, watching the man above him he could see the calculating look in his eyes, now comprehending what his partner’s game was.

‘Dartmoor?’ Mycroft enquired innocently.

He laughed, sinking back against the bedding, before sighing angrily. He fixed Mycroft’s cool grey gaze with his own.

‘Not. A. Chance.’ Lestrade hissed at him.

His captor examined the end of the riding crop, looking bored and in apparent contemplation. He crawled up the line of Greg’s body brushing his fingertips across bare skin, send tendrils of pleasure sneaking out through him as he captured his lips while gently tapping the crop along his torso. Lestrade was tired and frustrated, he sighed into Mycroft’s mouth before pulling away huffily, trying not to give him the satisfaction of kissing him back.

He murmured, ‘Please Mycroft, stop this. Be reasonable.’

His captor stayed silent. Evidently he was not finished with is torture. Greg groaned inwardly and closed his eyes awaiting fresh torture. 

He lost count how many times Mycroft pleasured him. Three? Four? Five? He did not know. He must have been here for hours. Mycroft’s skilful mouth playing his body to almost climax, before denying him his ultimate pleasure. Each time Greg was so close to pouring his seed into Mycroft’s mouth, he pulled back leaving the man below him crying out and begging, body tense with excitement and frustration.

Greg was breathing heavily, chest rising and falling rapidly, his whole body quivering from his captor’s assault. His mind wandered, he couldn’t think straight, his desire to cum overriding everything else. Mycroft abandoned pleasuring with his mouth in case Lestrade was becoming dull to the sensation. Reaching over to the bedside drawer again he pulled a bottle of massage oil. 

The oil was smeared across Greg’s groin, both Mycroft’s hands massaging his super headed flesh with eager movements. Lestrade whimpered as long, elegant fingers stroked his hardened cock and gently massaged his balls, working the oil methodically into the skin sending sharp jolts up his spine. 

Mycroft’s fingers probed lower. As one hand fisted his cock the other rubbed along his perineum causing his captive to buck and moan louder. Holmes finger circled his opening, caressing the puckered skin of his ass gently, drawing more delicious excitement from what his other hand was eliciting on his cock. Greg’s mind reeled, if he slid his finger into him just ever so slightly he was sure the penetration would send him over the edge. He pushed back against his lover’s hand trying to impale himself on those beautiful fingers.

Again, just as Greg was so close, he pulled away, the loss of the warmth of his body and his probing fingers a shock to the man under him. The D.I cried out, writhing on the bed, pulling frantically against the handcuffs, rattling the entire headboard and bed with the force of it.

Mycroft sat over him, straddling his waist, oiled and slippery hands braced against his captive chest. Greg’s whole body ached; he could feel every movement of his skin sliding against the bedding and Mycroft, it was no longer any pleasure, it was simply pain. The denial of his body was agonising, his partner had teased him, bringing him to the brink before pulling away again and again. Greg’s body was quivering with need, his legs were shaking and he was soaked with sweat. The cooling sweat on him and the taught, unreleased tension in his muscles were now causing him to shiver uncontrollably. His was mouth dry and horse from crying out, the begging, the pleading that went unanswered.

Mycroft raised one eyebrow in silent enquiry as Lestrade managed to focus on his face, he thought he was about to pass out from exhaustion. His voice was strained, it sounded distant and hollow in his ears as he broke down-

‘I’ll go, God yes, ok, I will go, just let me up please, please, please stop’

His captor smiled in triumph, gloating with his eyes that he had won. Reaching up, he unlocked the handcuffs freeing Lestrade’s wrists form the headboard. Greg’s body sank into the bedding with a groan, rolling his strained shoulders now that they could be moved.

Mycroft’s victory was short lived however; after rubbing his chaffed wrists Lestrade grabbed a fistful of hair yanking him painfully downward to sprawl on the bed. The older Holmes yelped slightly as the DI’s heavier body pinned him down, arm bending his neck at a painful angle. His eyes were actually a little wide, he was slightly shocked by the fierce anger he could see in Greg’s own, teeth bared as he leaned in, hot breath against his mouth.

‘Ever do that to me again, without my permission, I will, leave you. Understood?’

Mycroft swallowed, Greg had taken this much worse than he anticipated. He searched his lovers face; he was deadly serious. A little unsure and breathing heavily through his nose, he nodding once slowly that he understood.

Holmes winced as Greg yanked his head further down, angling him until he was now sprawled face down on the bed. Lestrade jerked the trousers of his pyjamas down with one hand, not bothering to remove them fully, just baring his arse, other hand firmly on his head pinning him against the soft mattress.

Greg positioned himself behind Mycroft between his legs, pushing his thighs wide with one hand. Without preamble, he pushed forward entering him enjoying the sharp cry from under him. Mycroft squirmed and hissed, although from his earlier torture, Greg’s cock had been slick with oil, a lot had been rubbed off and Mycroft himself had had no preparation, his body was not ready for his partners violent invasion.

Greg could not restrain himself, he pounded into Mycroft, pushing him into the bed deeper with every thrust, ignoring the small protesting noises from under him and the sharp echo of their bodies slapping together.

Mycroft fisted the sheets, face buried in a pillow stifling the moans of part pleasure and part pain, as above him, Greg continued to thud into his body claiming his ownership. His whole body jerked with every thrust, he could feel Greg’s assault in the very hollow of his bones.

It did not take Greg long to finish, given the earlier treatment by his captor. A few more sharp thrusts and he spilled himself into Mycroft with a grunt and a shudder down both their bodies. He pulled out his softening cock from the man who lay sprawled under him on the bed. 

After a few moments, letting his breathing return to normal, he pushed himself from the bed heading for the bathroom. Holmes rolled over looking at him, his own erection still standing proud before him, obviously looking for attention now that Greg had his own orgasm. 

‘Where are you going?’

Greg turned back to the bed and looked at him, smirking. 

‘I am going for a shower, then I will be packing a bag so that I can get the first train out to Baskerville in the morning.’ 

He waked back towards the bed leaning over to capture Mycroft’s lips giving him a bruising, insolent kiss before gazing down the line of his body and trailing a finger along the underside of his hardened cock.

‘If you are looking for your own pleasure then you are just going to have to deal with that yourself, love. I am too busy, and thanks to you, I have a train to catch.’

With that he left for the bathroom, leaving a slightly shocked and frustrated Mycroft alone on the bed. Payback was indeed a bitch.

 

~End


End file.
